Affari di Famiglia
by BinaryStars
Summary: "...and the mask comes off." Eventual Itacest. Rated for Italy's mouth. Yes, you read that right.
1. Opening

A/N; This is revised...and dwindling. You know how you lurk around for years and then get a sudden inexplicable urge to make an account and write a story? No, this was not one of those moments. The Italies just won't leave me alone. :L

Disclaimer: If I owned them, the fandom would be doomed to creepy pairings.

The ceremony of ascension is well under way. The new pope would be elected in a matter of minutes, and then made to give a speech to the gathering masses outside the Vatican, anxiously awaiting the new head of church. Outside, the world is watching.

Not a nation doesn't know of the pope. This is an important day.

So where the hell is Lovino?

Feliciano sighs, adjusting his rosary carefully. His robes have been immaculately pressed and resemble the vestments the Pope himself would where. It isn't like his brother to blow off something so important. Inwardly, he feels his own frustration rise. Only his brother knows how to make him lose his patience.

He hears the familiar tapping of expensive leather shoes down the hall and turned around, fully intending to demand where his brother had been, but he stops.

The classic Versace suit Lovino wears is dripping with blood, not his own. Feliciano grits his teeth. His brother is getting blood on the floor of a holy place. He says nothing. Lovino shrugs. "The bastardo refused to die." He says by ways of apology.

His northern counterpart dismisses his excuse. "Get changed. Quickly."

In a way Lovino feels he's fortunate. As his brother puts his crucifix around his neck, he wonders at those soft hands. Feliciano is a painter, an artist, and while Romano also paints, he hasn't the interest his brother has about the topic. Farming is his strength, he has an instinct for sensing when fruits and vegetables are ripe and usually can speculate the how the weather will be for the area. It was probably why his hands are rough and his nails are short and usually caked with dirt (or, in this case, blood.)

Feliciano is also a perfectionist. He has known this since he first met the boy, perhaps even before that. He has always been unconsciously aware of what feels like a second existence. His brother is nervous. Lovino can see dark circles under his eyes, a sure sign that he'd lost sleep since the former Pope had taken his place next to God in heaven. He purses his lips but says nothing.

When Feliciano was young, when he lived with Roderich in his palace in Austria, he was always the better twin, the more talented child, the better liked child. Even his own Boss had wanted his brother over him. As far as younger Lovino was concerned, Feliciano had everything and Lovino had nothing. He remembers feeling envious of the younger, cuter, more polite child, (he still does, sometimes) but something changed one fateful evening, while taking a tour of Venice.

His younger self had approached his brother with the intent of giving out to him, when he noticed his little shoulders hunched over and his gaze ill and melancholy. Lovino called him. He turned, his face an alarming shade of white, then tears rose in his eyes and his lip quivered and he threw up.

Lovino realised then that his cheerful demeanour was a front. Feliciano has insecurities, too. He keeps up his front and toils at his work because that is what is expected of him. He throws himself into everything he does, and his true nature isn't something happy and hyper, but tired and almost tormented. Perhaps it was the burdens of an artistic mind.

But Lovino admired his brother as well. He couldn't give himself away fully (who could?), but he trusts easily. His allegiance with Germany and his loyalty to the Pope proved that. Lovino is too proud. He refuses to let himself be taken care and values his independence greatly.

And while, over the years, he'd developed an inferiority complex being compared to his hard-working, perfectionist, pseudo-happy brother all the time, but that evening in Venice, when he held his scared, shaking, ill brother who was sobbing profusely, bawling he couldn't take it anymore and that he felt like a dirty liar all the time, it made him realise that he was selfish when he thought that way.

He also knew that somehow he'd become independent. Feliciano needed him. And God knew that Lovino would let no one upset his beloved brother so much.

Yes, Lovino feels he is fortunate. He knows the Feliciano under the mask.

He is brought back to reality when his brother squeezes his hand. His tired caramel eyes are transfixed on the sky. Lovino looks up.

The white smoke has risen.

A/N: Anyone whose read the next bit (during the few hours it escaped /shot) it's basically the same thing. Keep in mind, I did say eventual.


	2. Chapter I

Disclaimer; I don't own. :(

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After their new Pope gave his speech, the nations known collectively as Italy retreated from the cheers of the crowds. The sagely vestments they wore were starting to feel heavy. Feliciano felt exhausted after being up most of the night, praying and hoping and making certain everything went right and nothing was left out.

He could feel Lovino's eyes on his back. Although he rarely said anything about it, Feliciano knew that his brother hated that he put on this smiling, oblivious front. So, when they were alone, and when he was too tired to give a damn, he simply closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

He felt nothing but love for his brother, even when they bump heads. In a way, Feliciano felt fortunate.

His brother constantly fought with his feelings of inferiority. When he worked, he did so in private. He didn't handle compliments well, and he and Feliciano shared timidity. They just coped with it differently. When they were younger, Feliciano was fascinated by how such a small person, his brother no less, could possibly refuse to conform to the standards everyone had for him, the expectations Feliciano worked so hard to maintain.

Antonio wanted Feliciano because Lovino refused to work. Feliciano felt terrible when he had heard that as a child, but then, his brother had bounded into the room, pure murder in his eyes, and headbutted his boss straight in the stomach. To his surprise, Antonio toppled over, taking Roderich crashing down with him in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

Lovino screamed at him, his tiny fists curled into little balls at his side. So angry, even at that age. Feliciano felt the ground move from underneath him. He wanted so very much to speak to him, then, but could never bring himself to.

Then one day in Venice, when the day had been like any other, he felt an unfamiliar emotion flood though him while walking on his beloved canals. He felt hot and frustrated and sad and his stomach just wouldn't settle. He felt dizzy and ill and couldn't stop shaking, and started crying. It was an angry discontent that he couldn't comprehend. He remembered feeling utterly mortified when he vomited in front of the boy, his brother, who was so strong.

He remembered crying and screaming into his brother's shoulder, and feeling so soothed when Lovino held him and told him it was okay to be tired and sick of everything. He remembered feeling frightened when he approached Austria, Roderich, later that day and thought of Lovino waiting for him and had the courage to proclaim his desire for independence.

He realised that Lovino wasn't as hard to figure out as he thought, that he did have a crippling inferiority complex and that he felt only Feliciano truly cared for him, yet everyone else cared only for Feliciano. Lovino had accepted his constant discontent in return for acceptance of his own self-imposed frustration.

They sat together in the garden, Feliciano resting his head on his brother's shoulder. Lovino's hat lay in his lap and he went off into his thoughts. His hair was still wet from the brief shower he had taken to wash the blood off. Feliciano lifted his head and stroked his brother's burgundy hair. He smiled, genuinely, radiating relief rather than intensity, when his brother turned his olive eyes to regard him. "How was the kill?"

They'd given up wondering why some nations were born twins. It was convenient. Ideally, Italy Romano was to be a representative of Rome, the Vatican, the Pope. Italy Venezia paralleled the artists of Venice. And the mafia was the scourge of the country, mainly situated in Sicily.

But there were two, so they would share their burdens and joys. Feliciano took Lovino on gondolas and speedboats in Venice. The southern Italian would sometimes sing (_O Sole Mio)_ and Lovino took his brother to all the little sunny spots in Rome, the galleries, the cafes. The northern Italian would cook if they stayed home (Pasta.)

Lovino shrugged. "Took longer than I thought." The dark side of their culture; required of them both.

"Ah." Feliciano said lightly. He looked away, at that exotic shade of red in his brother's hair.

"You must be tired." Lovino said, the corner of his lip up in a hesitant smile. He didn't get to spend as much time with his brother since he had made friends with that German bastard, so he treasured his time with him.

Feliciano grinned weakly. "Si, a little. You'll sleep with me tonight, right?"

Before he had a chance to answer, the doors swung open and the dark garden was momentarily lit by the artificial lights from inside. They heard the hustle-bustle of celebration inside. Feliciano panicked when he heard Ludwig's voice call him.

He knew the German meant well, probably come out to congratulate him, to invite him to celebrate, but he felt so tired. Lovino's hand on his stilled him. "Pretend to sleep. I'll send him away."

Immediately, he shut his eyes and assumed his usual sleep demeanour, mouth ajar and making small 'veee' noises. He heard Lovino grind his teeth as the German descended down the steps. He gave out in typical Lovino fashion when Ludwig apologised for disturbing them, ('_ffanculo, you damn potato bastard, he's had a tiring day...')_

After he shut the door behind him, Feliciano turned to look after him sorrowfully. Lovino scoffed. "I won't be there every time you want to avoid that damn potato macho, fratello." He said. "Why are you such a fucking coward? Why the hell are you afraid of upsetting him, of him leaving you alone once in a while?"

Perhaps it was because he was tired, but Feliciano's temper flared. "You're one to talk, fratello!" he snapped. "Like I'm the only '_fucking coward' _here! You turned to your precious goddamn _Antonio _for everything!" It was a low blow and he rarely cursed, but even Feliciano had his limits. Lovino flinched then matched his vehement rage.

"Shut the fuck up! You were always his fucking favourite! You fucking steal everything that's mine!" Familiar guilt panged in the bottom of the northern Italian's heart.

"Because you take shit care of your things, fucking farmer!" Feliciano felt vaguely satisfied at Lovino's outrage.

"Goddamn crossdresser!" Northern Italy's cheeks flagged with pink. It was Lovino turn to be satisfied.

He scowled, and looked just like Lovino. "Oh, go piss in the bed, _Romano_!" Bring up old shames and imply that he wasn't considered Italy by the other nations at the same time. It should have hurt, and he should have started crying or yelling.

But this old song and dance was far too familiar. Quietly, Feliciano stifled a giggle. Reluctantly, his brother cracked a grin. He smiled. "Mi dispiace."

Lovino shrugged. "You're cranky when you're tired. I'm cranky in general." Hesitantly, he put an arm around his brother's shoulders, squeezing him close. "Say goodnight to your German friend and we'll go to bed."

Feliciano felt warm. He pressed his forehead against his brother's cheek. "Or we could just leave. I'm too tired to...you know."

"Si, come on. I brought my car."

Lovino watched Feliciano folded his clothes neatly, because they weren't his, but the Vatican's and holy clothes should be treated well. He himself had already done the same. His skin still smelt of blood and he decided a proper shower would do him some good. He asked first if his brother wanted food. He replied by slipping between his covers and sticking his head underneath one of his pillows.

He snorted, and then walks to the bathroom.

In the morning, Feliciano would be begging to see that Potato Eater. He was constant in his life, a solid. Something neither he nor his brother could be. Artists, the religious and killers were never able to keep stable for long. Lovino couldn't be what his brother needed anymore. It was a realisation that struck him years ago, when Feliciano had become disheartened during the Second World War. (That same evening, Lovino left for Sicily. His brother didn't stop him.)

But that didn't mean he'd have to like the bastard who's taken his beloved brother away from him.

He couldn't hate his brother even though they weren't brothers by birth. Not even Rome knew when they had truly come into existence, only that he suddenly had a small group of children to raise (France, Spain, Italy, Romano).

He dearly wished his brother would drop the happy-go-lucky charade in vain. He couldn't help but feel that Feliciano would be happier if he didn't try so hard to reach everyone's expectations. But of course he wouldn't, the cowardly little shit that he was.

And Lovino was no different. He was cowardly because he was afraid of being close to someone he loved. Antonio loved him, he knew. It wasn't amorous, but it was nice that someone loved him despite his flaws. If Antonio showed his affection, Lovino would protest.

When Feliciano showed affection, he would also protest, but weakly. If Feliciano called him 'Lovi' in front of the other nations, or held his hand under the table at World Meetings or thought nothing of kissing him in public, he really wouldn't resist past a snarl or grimace accompanied by a 'stop that, you bastard, chigi'.

He wasn't certain why his brother's fake grin cuts him or why his soft smiles melt him, but he assumed it was because he loves him. Blood or not, all nations had a feelings camaraderie towards each other. Theirs was just stronger because they were both Italy.

Yes. That was the reason.

He turned the shower off once he felt clean enough, and dried himself with a towel.

He usually slept naked, but his brother was sharing his bed. And besides that, it was cold tonight and he'd just taken a shower. He slipped on his shorts and shirt and clambered into his bed. Feliciano lay still and Lovino wanted his warmth. His brother was a heavy sleeper, but still he hesitated before sliding his arms around his thin frame and holding him close.

Feliciano opened his eyes when Lovino's breathing became rhythmic and deep. His nose was barely a hair away and he smelt sweet and warm and clean. His caramel eyes drifted upwards to the mysterious flyaway strand of hair on his brother's head. As if hypnotised, he reached up to touch it. He stopped himself halfway.

What was he doing?

Instead he brought his fingers to touch his frowning full lips. For a moment, Lovino's brow furrowed, then his olive eyes opened.

"Feli?" He murmured sleepily. "Stai bene?"

"Si." Feliciano said back. "Dispiace. I woke you."

Lovino attempted to inch away, but his brother wouldn't allow it. He pressed his cheek against his neck, wrapping his arms around his slender waist. "We'll need to meet with the cardinals tomorrow,"

"Si." Lovino yawned, running his hand through his brother's copper red hair. "In the morning. Go to sleep, fratello."

Feliciano was once again met with his brother's relaxed breathing and sleep claimed his tired body, as he tried not to wonder why he almost touched that personal ahoge.

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A/N: When I started writing, I swore I'd never ask for reviews. But then I realised how nice they were. XD


	3. Chapter II

A/N; Argh. I hate the slow pace in which this story flows in my head...Oh, and apologies for OCCness. I made Germany...vulnerable. XD /shot

Disclaimer: Don't own.

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Feliciano felt happy around Ludwig. He knew that the blond German cared about him deeply, a profound kind of friendship that the pair of them just sort of...fell into. It was a silent symbiosis they had, where Germany protected Italy and Italy in turn protected Germany. At times, Feliciano could sense it, the swirling wave of guilt and despair that washed over Ludwig at times was stifling and overwhelming. He hid it well.

Every nation had its mask. Feliciano was one of the first who saw the little cracks in his. Ludwig had broken down barriers for him and Kiku. He didn't like being vulnerable. The only other person who knew about his pain was his brother. At least, that was what Feliciano assumed. Glancing over at his own sleeping brother tangled in the sheets while he waited for the familiar voice on the other end of the phone, Feliciano couldn't imagine what it would be like without a fratello.

He wondered if, like Kiku and Yao, he would turn to his old guardians, Roderich and Elizaveta for guidance. He was pulled out of his daze when a thick german accent spoke. "Feliciano?"

"Buongiorno, Ludwig! Fratello told me you were looking for me yesterday?"

"Ah, Ja. I wanted to congratulate you, but I suppose you had fallen asleep."

"Grazie, Ludwig. Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"Ja, very much. We don't have such gatherings here in Berlin." A chuckle. "Or such weather. Do you have meetings to attend today as well, for the cardinals and the congregation?"

"Si. Fratello and I are going to introduce ourselves and our roles to our new head of church."

"Another busy day, then. We should meet up sometime afterwards, when you have everything settled, Ja?" Feliciano heard it then, that fleeting, miniscule tinge of desperation in his voice. Hesitantly, he turned his head to see if his brother is still sleeping. Lovino had an-old fashioned phone, one with a cord, and Feliciano found it a hassle for private conversations at the worst of times.

Quietly, he asked. "Have you been well, lately, amico mio?"

A harsh sigh. "Ja. _I'm_ fine, Feliciano. I just...it's bruder. He hasn't been himself lately."

"How so?"

"I found him crying, Feli."

"Oh." Feliciano picked at his bottom lip in thought. "How come?"

"I don't know. I suppose I just need some advice, that's all. I feel like he...puts on an act." Feliciano's breath caught in his throat. "It's like he can't tell me what's the matter with him. You're supposed to trust brothers. Right?"

The Italian furrowed his brow. Ludwig sounded so vulnerable. "You're right." He glanced again to his brother's bed. "You shouldn't keep things from family. Ah! I have an idea!" he said, feigning extreme enthusiasm. "You should go and ask Francis or Antonio, if Gilbert won't tell you."

"They might know something, Ja. I'll go ask. Danke, Feli."

"No problem, Ludwig. I'll see you soon. Ciao."

When he put the phone down, his brother stirred. For a minute, Feliciano thought he was going to rise, but then he sneezed. Pulled out from his momentary surprise, he smiled and took a seat beside his brother. Lovino groaned, drawing the covers up.

"Fratello, you should have closed the window last night."

"Zitto, Feliciano."

"Shall I change you, then, Lovi?"

He noticed the ball underneath the blankets stiffen. Lovino ground out a hesitant. "Don't call me that! Why the hell would I need you to do that, bastardo?"

Feliciano rose up from the bed. How curious. Lovino hadn't ever made a big deal of being changed by Spain as a child. Why wouldn't he let his fratello change him, then? Feliciano also realised he had on his nightclothes as well. Lovino usually slept naked. Hand on his hip, Feliciano frowned, but he let it slide.

"You're not getting out of this meeting, fratello! We are both Italy. Just one isn't sufficient."

The lump drew closer into himself, groaning in protest. "I can change myself!"

"Not quick enough! Come on." He pulled on the blankets, attempting to drag them off the bed. A tugging match between them ensued. The covers tore and silence fell over the pair.

Lovino was first to erupt. "YOU BASTARDO YOU RIPPED MY SHEETS!"

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT FRATELLO!"

_**II**_

The Pope waited in his chambers, curious as to what he should expect. He had heard from the cardinals and the President that he would be meeting the personifications of Italy. He had always considered the people the so-called personification of Italy. He was about to be proven wrong.

A pair of young men entered the chamber, and he was about to demand how they got past the security of the Swiss Guard, but then he noticed...

One was fairer than the other, with copper hair and bright caramel eyes. He was dressed in a blue military suit, and wore a cross around his neck. He had beautiful hands and his lips were effortlessly curved into a graceful smile.

The other had sharper features, mahogany hair and prominent olive eyes. While the former donned his country's uniform, he was clad in the sandy clothes associated with the Spanish. His cheeks were faintly red and a scowl was apparent on his face.

The Pope gazed in awe as he realised that the pair he was about to meet could very well have been the fabled Romulus and Remus.

**_III_**

The sun was still high in the sky when they left the Basilica. The tourists, clergy and reporters from yesterday were still flocked around the area, and they had a hard time finding an available seat at any little coffeehouse on the side of the road for any early lunch.

Eventually, they stopped off at a familiar little parlour, quite a distance away from the hustle-bustle of the Vatican. A Spanish family were seated near the window, and a British were attempting to ask the flustered woman at the counter for directions.

The two Italians nestled themselves in a safe little booth away from the children and confused tourists.

"So what did the potato bastard say?" Lovino sounded annoyed as he flicked through the menu, and curled his lip when Feliciano tried to put on his innocent act around him. "Oi, shut the hell up, fratello! Remember who you're fucking with!"

Feliciano rolled his eyes. "We talked, that's all. He wanted to congratulate us."

"He wanted to congratulate _you_." Lovino muttered absently, fingering the edge of the menu in irritation. "What're you having? I'll pay."

"Something light. And a coffee for afterwards." Feliciano rested his chin in his palm as Lovino summoned the waitress. He watched the two little Spanish children run around the restaurant, much to their mother's discontent, and smiled. Against the mahogany chairs and tables, and the cream walls, their bright yellow and blue clothes were a welcome sight.

The windows were all wide open, letting in a cool breeze, and the sun was bright, even if the ground was still partly wet from the rain last night. At that moment, Lovino sneezed. "Goddamn, it's freezing in here, why the hell're all the windows open?"

"You should've been more careful last night, fratello." He murmured vaguely, still watching the children. Lovino slouched in his chair, pressing their knees together underneath the table. For warmth, of course. He followed Feliciano's gaze for a little while, eyeing the kids boredly until one got a firm grip on one of the sheets covering a table and yanked it down, bringing all the cutlery down with it. Lovino scoffed, ready to complain to his brother, but then noticed the faraway look on his face.

"Feliciano?"

"I think...I want to paint for a while." He drawled carefully. "After I visit Ludwig."

Lovino's gaze softened and he nodded, curving the corners of his mouth into a fleeting sort of smile. "I don't have paints, but we'll get some, si?" His brother, the artist. The discontented artist. "Anything in particular?"

His caramel eyes turned pensive for a second. "You don't need to pretend to be interested, fratello. I know you don't care much for art..."

Lovino arched a brow. "Where did the Renaissance begin?"

Feliciano grinned guiltily. "Italy."

"That's right. I might not be as interested in art history, theory and practices as you, but I can tell my chiaroscuros from my sfumatos."

The waitress arrived with their food just in time to see the mess the two little children had made nearby. Their mother was already scolding them, and Feliciano couldn't help but think of his own childhood. He'd been clumsy too, just like his brother had been. "-paint?"

"Huh?" brought out of his daydream, Feliciano hadn't realised his brother had been talking. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"I said, 'what will you paint'?"

"Oh. I was thinking of a portrait. Something to mark our new Pope."

Lovino nodded. Feliciano handled portraits best, after all. The fairer Italian must have shared his thought because he pursed his lips and looked away, suddenly distracted by the patterns on the carpet. His brother's hand moved over his and gave it a squeeze. He smiled weakly. Acceptance. "After you visit your twinkle-toes boyfriend, we'll go shopping for paints, okay?"

Feliciano rolled his eyes. "Si. Okay. And you'll be going to Antonio's house?"

"How did you-"

"I saw your plane ticket, fratello. You know he'll be happy to see you."

Lovino scowled playfully, withdrawing his hand. "I'll only be gone for a few days. I need to head back early. The Don wants information on that target."

"Spend as long as you want there, Lovi. I'll go to the Don." Feliciano shrugged. "It's been a while since I saw him. You say he has a daughter now?"

Lovino nodded. "Like the movies, eh, Fra'?" he shook his head, smiling slightly. "But no, don't worry. I started this, I should finish it. As far as he knows, there's only one of us, right? We don't want to slip up."

"Remembering how painful a bullet in the gut was?" Feliciano laughed.

"Not as bad as drowning." Lovino scowled fiercely. "Repeatedly."

"You did find me in the end, Fra'. Nations don't die."

They felt that phrase echo.

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A/N: Other nations will come in next chapter...along with other couples. They're...uh, well, not yaoi. XD Also, the whole 'Fra' thing...IDK.

These are taking too long, I know. I have school and such. French and Irish orals, then the big exams in June.

On a side note, I love the story of Romulus and Remus. Our tourguide in Italy (lol, he was Canadian) basically explained how a one of the women from a holy order of some sort had gotten pregnant and claimed a god (Mars, the god of war) had impregnated her. They abandoned the children, and they were raised by a She-wolf, as you on the statues. (Strangely enough, She-wolf is slang for prostitute in Italian) Then they were trying to find a place to build a city, and they made a bet. Whoever had the most crows on their land would win. Romulus got ten or something (I can't really remember) and Remus claimed to have gotten more, so Romulus called him a liar and killed him. AND THUS ROME WAS BORN.

Cheerful story, right? Some details are hazy, this was two years ago, mind you.

Reviews keep me motivated! :D


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